


One Match Left

by leiascully



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Colleagues to Lovers, Drunk Sex, Everybody knows, F/F, Irritation as foreplay, Relationship Advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: Dorian and Varric are great wingmen, in their own way.





	One Match Left

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: toward the end of the game  
> Author's Note: Sarah Harmer has a great song called "One Match Left" and I stole it for this fic.  
> Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Inquisition and all related characters are property of Bioware and EA Games. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Cassandra Pentaghast is a pain in the ass.

In fact, Cadash decides, she is a literal royal pain in the ass. A technically-a-princess, Orlesian hero, divinely right handed pain in the ass with a huge stick up her own ass. She's been through hell and high water with Cassandra at this point and it still feels like they disagree on every damn detail of how to run the Inquisition. Cassandra wants the Chantry involved. Cadash swears she'll burn in hell before that happens. Cassandra wants Cadash to behave more like an Inquisitor should. Cadash tells her to take a look in a mirror once in a while. And on and on and on until Cadash just wants to stash Cassandra in the basement of Skyhold, locked away with the books. She'd tie Cassandra up in the Inquisitor's quarters, but Cassandra has made it clear she isn't interested in Cadash. That's fine. Except when it's not. And it's not fine more and more often these days: what started as a flirtation to pass the time has turned into something Cadash tries not to dream about. Cassandra is an immovable object, and it turns out that Cadash is not an irresistible force. And that's fine, it really is, but neither of them has enough ways to relieve their stress these days and they just end up picking at each other. Again. 

So. Princess Pain-In-The-Ass. 

Good fighter, though. Cadash at least knows she can absolutely depend on Cassandra on the battlefield. They had each other's backs through Suledin Keep a few days ago through what felt like an endless gauntlet of enemies, and then there turned out to be more Red Templars across the bridge, not to mention the dragons she hasn't even had the energy to consider. Now they've taken over the keep properly and they're having dinner with Baron Desjardins, who arrived today, apparently on Josephine's orders. He'll be governing the place and keeping track of the Inquisition forces after the Inquisitor sallies forth. The facilities aren't as nice as Skyhold, but they'll do, and they have some strategic importance. If Josephine believes that Desjardins is the person for the job, Cadash believes her. Mostly Cadash is happy just to have something warm on her plate and something alcoholic in her goblet. Camping in the ramparts in a tent was less than comfortable, and she woke up huddled next to Cassandra. She's used to the bickering between Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra. At least the Baron looks amused. Cadash can't imagine the tongue-lashing they'd all be getting if she'd brought Vivienne instead. The lecture about how to behave in front of the nobility would be more grueling than the battle against the lyrium-enhanced Templars.

"A bow is a weapon for those who do not have the fortitude for the thick of things," Cassandra says, and she's clearly trying to needle Varric, but Cadash isn't going to sit there and listen to that kind of nonsense. Apparently a series of good straightforward fights and a long soak in the hot springs they found wasn't enough to unwind Her Majesty. Cadash is beginning to believe nothing in Thedas has the power to mellow Cassandra out.

"You might as well come right out and call me a coward," Cadash says. "Although I don't seem to recall you turning down my help any time lately. Or Varric's. Maybe a bow is a weapon for those who have the experience to understand the battle from further than six inches away."

The Baron looks back and forth between them like he's gathering material for the town crier to shout out over the walls. Tension between Inquisitor and Hero! Human belittles dwarf! Cassandra, taking a deep breath to prepare her retort, finally catches on. 

"I will try to consider it from your perspective," Cassandra says, her voice as stiff as her posture.

"Waist high," Cadash says sardonically. Varric chuckles. 

"We all have our skills," Dorian says in that way he has of implying that, in fact, he is the only one with any competence at all. Cadash winks at him. 

"We do indeed," the Baron says. He yawns behind his hand. "Oh dear, I'm exhausted from the trip. Shall I send up a few bottles of brandy? I brought an excellent selection. The cold, you know. It gets into my bones."

"That sounds delightful," Dorian says. 

"I could use a drink," Varric agrees. "Another drink." He picks up his goblet and peers into it. 

"Excellent," the Baron says. "Good evening."

They all murmur their goodbyes. Cadash picks at the remains of her food, some sort of pastry with mutton and vegetables. Or maybe it was snoufleur. It's not like she's seen a sheep in a while. Whatever it was, it was good. She drains her wine goblet. 

"How's the book going, Varric?" she asks.

"Which one?" Varric rolls his eyes. "The publisher always wants more. Won't take saving the world for an answer."

"Should I write you a note?" Cadash teases. 

"Please do," Varric says. 

"Dear publisher," Dorian narrates, "Please excuse Varric from meeting his deadlines this year. I need him by my side as we defeat an archdemon so that there will still be a world in which people might conceivably be able to purchase books. Yours sincerely et cetera, Inquisitor Cadash."

"Pretty much exactly what I was planning," Cadash says. 

Cassandra snorts. "Perhaps you should not come on the next mission if you are having such trouble, Varric."

"Bring Bull instead," Dorian suggests.

"First of all," Cadash says, "that's not a one-for-one swap by any means. Second, I'm not bringing your boyfriend along just so you can fuck all over Thedas."

"He's an exquisite fighter," Dorian protests, looking hurt.

"He's all kinds of exquisite," Cadash agrees, "but when I need Varric, I need Varric."

"So nice to be needed," Varric says wryly, which Cadash is almost certain is his only tone of voice. "Ah, the man with the brandy. Just who I wanted to see."

"Compliments of the Baron," the servant says, setting down several bottles and slipping away again.

"Look, none of us are ever going to see eye-to-eye," Varric says. "For a number of reasons, not just our relative heights. But I think we can all agree on one thing, and that's that we need to get hammered tonight. I don't know about you, but these Red Templars freeze my soul. We did a good job. We deserve a night of fun."

"Hear hear," Dorian says enthusiastically.

"Seeker?" Varric says. 

She sighs. "I suppose."

"You don't have to sound sad about it," Cadash says, irritated. She genuinely fucking cares about and values Cassandra, and they've shared some honestly incredibly poignant moments over the time Cadash has been with the Inquisition, but the woman won't ever unbend and return the favor on anyone's terms but her own. "We'll drink your share if that's the way you're going to be."

"You will not," Cassandra says. "I agree. We deserve a celebration."

"That's the spirit," Dorian says encouragingly. 

Cassandra reaches for the bottle and uncorks it. She slops a more than healthy measure into each goblet. 

"To victory," she says, raising her cup.

"To victory," they all murmur, and the night begins in earnest. Varric has a deck of cards, because of course he does. Dorian has some delightfully filthy anecdotes, because Dorian's entire life is delightfully filthy anecdotes, except for the sad parts. Cassandra, amazingly, leans back in her chair, lounging with one arm slung over the back. 

"And that was my sexual awakening," says Dorian, pouring himself another measure of brandy. The second bottle is nearly empty. They've paced themselves, but Cadash is tipsy, and she can see that the others are there too. Cassandra's cheeks are flushed. Dorian keeps stroking his mustache. 

"Couldn't have told a better story myself," Varric says. 

"I like the part where you were so covered in massage oil you almost slid off the couch," Cadash tells him.

"People enjoy this?" Cassandra asks.

Dorian rolls his eyes. "People who enjoy things frequently enjoy sex, yes."

"I enjoy sex," Cassandra protests. "But I don't take such extreme measures."

"You're missing out, Seeker," Varric tells her. "Playing by the rules all the time takes all the fun out of life. No harm in a little massage oil."

"Or a lot," Dorian puts in. "It was a lot of massage oil. And then I left the poor girl on that greasy chaise longue and almost fell out of my trousers on my way to discuss my revelations with my riding instructor." He smirks. "So to speak. I don't think she got much out of the whole experience. Not very gentlemanly of me."

"At least you had a reason for it," Cadash mutters. 

"Indeed," Dorian says. "Anyway, hardly anybody gets it right the first few times. It's tenacity that wins the day. Or the night, if you will."

"Our Seeker isn't one to experiment," Cadash teases. 

"I might be willing," Cassandra says stiffly. "With the right partner."

"Your standards are too high," Cadash tells her. "I keep walking right under them."

"Get a stepladder," Dorian advises sagely, examining his goblet. 

"I'd need one the height of the keep," Cadash jokes.

"I will not apologize for desiring that my partner meet certain specifications," Cassandra says, blushing furiously. "Even if it means I remain alone."

"Now that's a shame," Varric says. "Everyone needs a roll in the hay when the world is ending."

"She is a woman," Cassandra protests.

"We've noticed," Dorian says. "Shame about that." He winks. Cadash winks back.

"I will admit to a certain attachment to the Inquisitor," Cassandra says, "but it goes no further than fondness."

Cadash, speechless, takes too big a swallow of brandy and sputters.

"I used to tell myself the same thing," Dorian muses. 

"Didn't we all," Varric says, raising his goblet in some kind of ironic toast before bringing it to his lips.

"You, Varric?" Cassandra says, shocked. 

"You think Hawke and I were just good friends?" Varric asks. "We were. Most of the time. I may have this thing with Bianca, but there are times a person just needs that physical connection, and Hawke, well, he felt the same way. We loved the hell out of each other and we also slept together on occasion. Who you sleep with doesn't have to fundamentally change your life, Seeker. I'm still the dwarf I was before I found out I enjoy the occasional company of men."

"You weren't getting more than occasional company anyway," Dorian teases.

"Sad but true," Varric agrees.

"And you?" Cassandra asks Cadash. 

Cadash shrugs. "If you want to believe I'm an opportunist, go ahead. That's what you think of me anyway." She presses her palm with the anchor to an empty bottle. It makes a sort of lamp.

"That's not what I think of you," Cassandra says in an oddly quiet voice. 

"I can tell you that none of my former partners of any persuasion have ever had complaints," Cadash boasts, because she needs to feel good about something tonight.

"Yes, well, extenuating circumstances," Dorian says. "I was having an epiphany. No one since has left unsatisfied." 

"I think we all need to change the subject," Varric says. "Wicked Grace?"

"Please," Dorian says. "Inquisitor, didn't you find another one of those dusty bottles in the keep? What say we dig that out."

"It's probably awful," Cadash says. "I think it said it was peach."

"Perfect," Dorian says. 

It is indeed peach, and it is indeed awful, in that Maker's-breath-and-body-what-IS-this sort of way, which means they all enjoy it very much. Nobody loses their clothes, but everyone's shirts are significantly loosened. Cadash watches Cassandra across the table. The Seeker's eyes are bright and she actually looks relaxed for once. She's startlingly beautiful, scars and all. Cadash's flirtation with her has never been a joke - entertaining, yes but not a joke - but the way Cassandra turned her down stings tonight, especially after Cassandra admitted there's some kind of connection. They were getting somewhere and then Cassandra made it a dead end. Cadash is sure she could dig up a makeshift dick somewhere, if that's what it's all about. She could probably even have it enchanted to feel something like the real thing. 

"You should try it," Varric mumbles.

"Try what?" Cassandra asks. She squints into her glass. "Are you supposed to drink the sludge at the bottom?"

"Yes," says Varric with more confidence than Cadash knows he feels. She's tried the sludge. It's brutal. Her whole face is still tingling from it. "And you should try women. Why not? We happen to have one right here."

"You've got nothing to lose," Dorian says. "Women are lovely. Not for me, but lovely."

"And you don't urge him to change his ways," Cassandra says, jerking her thumb at Dorian.

"He took a chance," Varric says. "Didn't work out. You haven't even done that much."

"I have done a great deal," Cassandra says deliberately. "Outside of the bedroom."

"Sure," Varric says. "A biography's worth of deeds at least."

"But not a woman," Dorian adds. "Either in or out of the bedroom. There are more options, you know."

"You're a hell of a couple of allies," Cadash says finally. "I appreciate everything you do in my service. Leave her alone." But it's gone too far now, as if it hadn't gone too far when the conversation began, because Dorian and Varric can't resist needling Cassandra either. Cadash isn't the only ass she's a pain in. 

"If nothing else, at least tell me one woman you think is attractive," Varric says. "You owe me that much, after the whole prisoner thing."

"I owe you nothing," Cassandra says archly, her haughtiness spoiled slightly by the fact that she's listing to one side.

"I'll write you the next chapter of _Swords & Shields_," Varric says. 

"Stop," Cadash says, but it's way too late for that. It was already too late when she pulled out the bottle of Abyssal Peach, but there's nothing to do now but bury her head in her arms.

"I suppose if I had to choose a woman...Josephine is beautiful," Cassandra says. 

"Well, obviously," Dorian says, rolling his eyes. "Anyone could see that Josephine is beautiful. Honestly, I half-expected you to say Andraste."

"I would never," Cassandra blusters. "There is no pleasing any of you. First you ask me to say a woman I might find attractive, and then you say that my choice is too obvious. Perhaps I value other things than physical beauty."

"That must be true," Varric says, "or you would have tumbled our resident pretty-boy Cullen already."

"Don't distract her. Other things such as?" Dorian leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand. He's a bit wobbly. 

"I would like to point out this is the opposite of leaving her alone," Cadash says. 

"Bravery," Cassandra says. "Strength. A passionate spirit."

Varric waves his hand at Cadash. "Here she is."

"Wait a moment," Dorian says to Varric, "am I not the resident pretty boy?"

"Sure," Varric says with a shrug, "you're all gorgeous. But you're not interested in Cassandra. Potentially, I mean. We all know Cullen's married to the job."

"Fair enough," Dorian says. 

"You could try inviting him along, though," Varric says. "Might be a good distraction."

"Cullen?" Cassandra says in disbelief.

"Seeker," Varric says patiently, "you're going to have to come to terms with the fact that no one is fucked up about fucking except you. At least in our immediate circle, and that includes our resident Tevinter, despite all odds. Maybe Cole. I don't know how human he is. Even Sera manages, and she hates pretty much everyone in the entire Inquisition."

"It's perfectly normal if you're not interested in sex at all," Dorian begins, but Cassandra interrupts him.

"I am very interested in sex!" she says loudly.

"They'll come running now," Dorian smirks. "You'll have every soldier down there standing at attention."

"Maker's breath," Cassandra groans. Cadash pushes the bottle of Abyssal Peach toward her and Cassandra empties it into her goblet. Cadash stands up, bracing herself on the table. 

"This," she announces, "has been a real treat, but I am suitably sloshed, and I am proceeding to bed, where I will launch a concentrated attack on the pillows with my head."

"Solid plan," Varric says. "I'll be up for a while if anyone needs me. I've got smutty literature to write. A deal's a deal."

"It had better be worth it," Cassandra mutters.

"Varric doesn't disappoint," Dorian says. 

Cadash stumbles down the stairs, not as wobbly as she'd thought she would be. The soldiers have managed to clear out some rooms for them in the keep proper. Not nice rooms - she thinks they were probably servants' quarters, and there are crates piled up to make a wall to separate the rooms - but at least they're sheltered from the wind, and the beds are comfortable. There's a nice fire going too, and someone's put a pitcher and a ewer on the table. She stands in the warmth watching the flames for what feels like a few minutes or possibly forever, drifting in her tipsy haze as the day catches up to her. Eventually the wind whistles past outside and she shakes out of it. There's a glass next to the pitcher and she downs several glasses of water. Maybe it'll work, maybe it won't, but better safe than sorry, and with all that liquor, she's likely to be sorry. She splashes her face and dries it on the tail of her shirt. The fabric is clammy against her stomach, so she pulls the damp shirt over her head and shucks off her boots and her trousers. What a fucking night. She's trying to decide whether she wants to put on a tunic or not when the door swings open and Cassandra strides in.

"This one's my room," Cadash says, not actually sure that's true, now that she mentions it. "You're next door."

"I did not make a mistake," Cassandra says, a little unsteadily. She's clutching the last bottle of brandy. "I hope."

"So you came to my room to what," Cadash says, "tell me all about how you like me, but not that way, and you don't really like me, but you admire me a little?"

"I like you very much," Cassandra says. "You make a fine Inquisitor."

Cadash yawns as if her heart doesn't glow a little at the compliment. "I'm tired, Cassandra. Can we have this heart-to-heart in the morning?"

Cassandra takes a swig from the nearly-empty bottle of brandy. "I did not come here to compliment you on how well you do the job."

Cadash crosses her arms. She's still only in her breast band and her smallclothes, but she'll be damned if she's going to change while Cassandra's staggering around. "Then why did you come here?"

"Varric and Dorian never stop talking," Cassandra says, apropos of nothing.

"That's true," Cadash says slowly. 

"Most of what they say is nonsense," Cassandra declares, "but it seems likely that they must be correct once in a while. Perhaps they are correct on this occasion."

"It's late," Cadash says. She's starting to get a headache. She shouldn't have stopped drinking. She steps closer to Cassandra and takes the bottle of brandy. There are a few swigs left. She takes that number down to a couple of swigs, letting the liquor burn in her throat for a moment. "What was your point?"

"Convince me," Cassandra says.

"Of what?" Cadash asks.

"Convince me that we would be good together," Cassandra says. "Dorian and Varric kept telling me so. They said I would see so myself, if I would only give you the chance." 

"We are good together," Cadash says. The way Cassandra's looking at her, something isn't really getting through, but fuck it, they're both drunk, and Cassandra only says what she means when it comes to telling Cadash what she's doing wrong. "You hack and slash. I take care of the rest." She eyes the brandy and takes another swallow.

Cassandra looks down, her cheeks rosy in the firelight. "Together. Intimately." Cadash nearly chokes on her brandy. 

"Intimately," Cadash says. "You and me." Her body is buzzing from head to toe and it isn't just the alcohol.

Cassandra nods. She looks like she's breathing faster than normal.

"How intimately?" Cadash stammers. 

Cassandra is definitely blushing, but she looks defiant. She raises her chin. "As intimately as necessary."

"Well, don't make it sound fucking romantic," Cadash mutters. She must be drunker than she thought. She must already be asleep. Andraste's tits, she can't even get laid right in her dreams.

"I drank this brandy until I had the courage to come here," Cassandra says, seeming to realize she's not holding the bottle and then noticing and pointing at it. "It took a significant portion. But here I am."

"You are here," Cadash allows. 

"I am feeling very overwhelmed," Cassandra says. "I would like either to feel more overwhelmed, or to go to sleep and wake up with enough of a hangover that I am distracted from this embarrassment." She looks very beautiful and very vulnerable in the firelight, her shirt partly open and the curves of her breasts nearly visible through it. If only Cadash had a better angle. 

"What the hell," Cadash says finally. "I'll overwhelm you, if that's what you want. I'm still a woman, you know."

"Yes," Cassandra says. "I am aware. And I would very much like to have been foolish in my objections, and incorrect in my mindset regarding the situation, and that is unusual for me."

"How do you want me to convince you?" Cadash asks.

"As quickly as possible, before I lose my nerve," Cassandra says. She's definitely breathing heavily. "I leave it to your discretion."

"Fortunately, I know the way to a woman's heart," Cadash says. She sets down the bottle and takes Cassandra by the hand. The stones of the fireplace are warm but not searing when Cadash touches them. She pushes Cassandra back against them and begins to undo her trousers. Cassandra tries to help, fumbling at the ties. When they manage to push the soft leather down over her hips, Cadash discovers that indeed the rumors are true: Cassandra does not wear smallclothes.

"Well, well, well," she says, rubbing her hands up Cassandra's bare thighs; goosebumps prickle at her palms. The breeches are down around Cassandra's knees, and that's good enough for her. She's not willing to risk Cassandra bolting if they pause to get her boots off. "Ready for anything, I see."

"Don't tease me," Cassandra says in that throaty voice that makes Cadash want to spend hours doing exactly that, after one fashion or the other. 

"Should I touch you instead?" Cadash says, and Cassandra lets out a sort of a whimper that Cadash can only assume is a yes. "I need you to talk to me, Princess. I don't want you regretting this in the morning."

"Touch me," Cassandra says, and Cadash lets her fingers do the talking. She slides them along the warm crease of Cassandra's thigh and through the curls to slip between Cassandra's slippery folds. Cassandra groans. Either _Swords & Shields_ was very good or she was thinking about this while she sipped her way through a great deal of brandy, because she's wet. Good. It will certainly make all of this easier for both of them, and it's a fucking delicious feeling. Cadash is melting herself, reveling in the slick heat of Cassandra's cunt under her fingertips. Cadash hooks her foot behind her and drags forward a convenient footstool. It's a good height for her: she can sit and still reach all the necessary parts of Cassandra, which is all good, because the way Cassandra is yielding to her has got her knees weak. She presses Cassandra's hips to the stones and strokes Cassandra's clit thoughtfully with one thumb.

"Oh," Cassandra says in a husky voice. "How marvelous." 

"Nothing you didn't already know about, I hope," Cadash says. Now that she's got Cassandra in front of her, she can't stand to only touch her with her hands. She wants more. She wants to drink Cassandra in. She wants to make Cassandra weak with need. "Your lover. Did he ever use his mouth to pleasure you?"

"His mouth?" Cassandra says, but Cadash is already leaning forward, drunkenness and desire pushing her toward Cassandra. Her fingers make a gap for her tongue to fit through, and the taste of Cassandra, the salty musky tang of her, is as intoxicating as any of the liquors they drank. Cadash leans her forehead against Cassandra's belly to steady herself. Cassandra's curls are coarse against her face. Cadash takes a deep breath and parts Cassandra's folds with her tongue, the tip darting out to flick against Cassandra's clit.

"Maker's body and breath," Cassandra swears, sounding breathless herself, and it's been a while, but Cadash knows that liquid-all-over feeling that the judicious application of a tongue can bring on, and even better when there's booze involved and you already feel like you're floating inside your own skin. There is nothing in her world but Cassandra, in all her glory. She licks delicately at Cassandra's folds for a moment, running her tongue up and down the length of them to feel Cassandra shiver, and then devotes herself to Cassandra's clit, pulling it into her mouth as her fingertips press gently against Cassandra's entrance. Cassandra gasps. Her hands scrabble in Cadash's hair and Cadash arches into the touch as much as she can without withdrawing from the space between Cassandra's thighs. Cadash is lost in Cassandra. She has no map and she doesn't care. Cassandra is everything, the whole world, the only thing that matters. She is full of the scent and taste and texture of Cassandra, everything she expected and more, and she wants nothing else. 

Cadash dedicates herself to extracting the most shivery noises from Cassandra. She draws circles around Cassandra's clit with her tongue, sucking hard at it and then backing off. She slips one finger and then another into Cassandra, who groans and sinks down as much as her trouser-bound legs will allow, so Cadash pushes up into her, pushes her up against the stone fireplace, pulls and pushes and sucks and thrusts into Cassandra until Cassandra is shaking, until Cassandra is crying out in a voice that cracks high, surprising them both, until Cassandra is gasping and clutching at Cadash with her fingers and what feels like every muscle in her body. 

Cadash gives her a few last licks just to feel Cassandra jump and then sits back on her stool. Her face is wet. She untucks her breastband and wipes her cheeks and chin and fingers. It hardly seems to matter anymore. There's not much need for modesty when she's just fucked Cassandra to within an inch of her life. If that hasn't convinced her they fit together, nothing will. Her unbound breasts hang heavy on her chest. Her nipples are standing out like proud little soldiers. Her cunt feels heavy too; she can feel her own slipperiness as she shifts on the leather seat. If she'd had any brainpower to spare, she would have touched herself while she was touching Cassandra, but it took every thought she had just to focus on Cassandra's pleasure.

"Well, Princess?" she asks, feeling smug. Her wrist aches a little and she rolls it. 

"No one has ever used their mouth to such great effect," Cassandra pants. "Perhaps not in the history of the world."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Cadash says, and can't help smirking. Unaccountably, she thinks of the girl Dorian tried to bed. Poor thing. It isn't as if it's difficult to pleasure a woman. "You should know that I'd usually insist on a healthy helping of foreplay, but this time, I just considered the past year of trying to butter you up good enough."

"I would like to take my clothes off," Cassandra says. She lifts her feet one at a time, as if she can't figure it out.

"Not the usual order of things, but all right," Cadash says, helping Cassandra out of her boots as Cassandra drags her shirt over her head. It's a lot trickier than it should be. Everything is trickier than it should be at the moment, because her fingers fumble every time she's not touching Cassandra. By the time she figures it out, Cassandra's managed to strip off the rest of her clothes, and she's as bare and glorious as a statue. Cadash gazes at her in tipsy amazement for long moments.

"To bed?" Cassandra suggests, and her tone is so much like something Cullen says at the war table sometimes that Cadash cackles and has to catch herself.

"That's where I'm going," she says. 

"Then I will go too," Cassandra declares.

Cadash stretches out on the mattress. The down crackles under her, and it crackles more as Cassandra joins her. Lying down, it's easier to line themselves up. Cadash reaches out and cups Cassandra's head in one hand, pulling her in for a kiss. Their first kiss, she realizes. They do everything in the wrong order. She's sure Cassandra can taste herself on Cadash's lips. She wonders if Cassandra likes it that way. She seems too, since her mouth is hungry against Cadash's. Their hands are wandering all over each other, and fuck, it's been too long since Cadash was touched this way. Her body has been a tool of the Inquisition for what feels like forever. She can only imagine how Cassandra feels. Every lean muscle that flexes under Cadash's searching fingers was built for a purpose: the Divine, the Inquisition, whatever cause caught Cassandra's attention. No wonder Cassandra had to drink so much to approach her or give in or whatever they're actually doing. It's hard to repurpose a body meant to fight dragons to surrender to pleasure instead. But she's catching on fast. Cassandra's mouth demands more, so Cadash lets her tongue push against Cassandra's, and that seems to be what Cassandra wants. Her hand slips into Cadash's smallclothes and gently down, and Cassandra groans.

"I think that's my line," Cadash murmurs against Cassandra's lips. She's amazed the words come out in the right order. The room is spinning and it isn't just the brandy. The friction of Cassandra's fingers exactly where she's wanted them sends sparks of pleasure through her.

"I was not expecting you to be so..." Cassandra trails off.

"Wet?" Cadash supplies. She kisses Cassandra again. "Did you think I wouldn't be, after all the times I've tried to tell you I want you? The equipment's pretty similar."

"To be honest, I had not considered it," Cassandra says. "Has it been this way often, when you were thinking of me?"

"So often," Cadash tells her, letting her legs fall open so that Cassandra can reach wherever she wants. "Why do you think I disappear to my quarters as soon as we get back?"

"I imagined you were tired of me," Cassandra says.

"Never," Cadash says. "Only tired of knocking my head against your walls when we could have been doing this instead."

"This does seem more relaxing," Cassandra says. She strokes Cadash's folds and Cadash rocks against her, impatient. She's been waiting so damn long for this impossible dream to come true, and her body is still humming with longing in response to Cassandra's pleasure. All she wants is Cassandra, everywhere. 

Cassandra seems to understand. She runs her hand down Cadash's side and over her hip. "Will you show me how to touch you?"

"Gladly." Cadash slides her hand down to cover Cassandra's and laces their fingers together. Fuck, it feels good to have Cassandra exploring her, no matter how tentative her touch. Cassandra's hands are calloused like Cadash's, but in slightly different places, and it feels like all the right ones. Her fingers are strong and lean and dextrous. Cadash guides her, but Cassandra is a quick study. Her touch is firmer and more confident by the minute. Cadash lets her hand slip away from Cassandra's. She can't concentrate. It's too much to touch herself while Cassandra is touching her too, tracing circles around her clit and pushing experimentally into her. She's lost in how good it feels. The only thought she can form is that she wants more, more, more. She reaches for Cassandra, kissing her blindly as she strokes Cassandra's breasts with damp fingers. She can feel Cassandra smiling against her lips.

"You like it when I touch you here," Cassandra says, and Cadash's back arches as she moans.

"Yes," she says breathlessly. "I like it."

"And here," Cassandra says, demonstrating again. Cadash presses into the sweet friction of Cassandra's touch. Maker's bones, she's going to turn herself inside out when she finally comes. Everything is sparkling the way it does when Cassandra releases whatever spell she casts on the battlefield. 

"Oh, yes," Cadash says.

"And here?" Cassandra asks. She presses into Cadash, her thumb still stroking Cadash's clit, and reaches somehow exactly for the right spot. 

"Fuck," Cadash says, because it's the only word she has left. Cassandra's fingers are longer than hers and it's just right, the angle and the pressure and the way Cassandra strokes her, and to be drunk and naked in bed with Cassandra, to have Cassandra wanting to touch her, wanting to please her: it's everything. 

"What if I used my mouth?" Cassandra murmurs, and Cadash can't do anything but nod. Cassandra slides down the bed and pulls off Cadash's smallclothes entirely. Her mouth follows her hands. She's clumsy at first, but Cadash is still drunk and she's wanted this so much for so long. Every touch feels better than it has any right to, and after a few minutes, Cassandra's tongue is deft enough. Cadash has to fist her hands in the blankets just to keep herself from floating away. She presses her hips into the bed so she's not rocking them against Cassandra's face. Cassandra mutters to herself, sounding pleased, and scrapes her teeth gently over Cadash's clit. Cadash hisses in pleasure and startlement, but it's almost too much. Cassandra seems to understand: she sucks Cadash's clit into her mouth and concentrates all her attention on it. Cadash can't help the way her hips rise, but Cassandra pins her with one strong forearm and reaches up with the other hand to find Cadash's tits. Cadash guides her hand to the right place and Cassandra squeezes gently as her tongue works ceaselessly over Cadash's clit. It's just good, so good, so gods-fucking good, and Cadash comes undone, her whole body tightening and arching under the weight of Cassandra's arms. She cries out, wordless and wild, and Cassandra slides up her body and pulls her into a close embrace. Cadash tucks her face against Cassandra's shoulder and pants, her heart pounding, and somehow that's more intimate than having her face between Cassandra's thighs. They breathe hard together, breasts rubbing against each other, legs twined together. Cadash tips her face up and Cassandra kisses her, and after all they've been through, in this moment, it's so easy.

"I enjoyed that very much," Cassandra murmurs.

"See, we are good together," Cadash tells her. "Even intimately."

"I agree," Cassandra says. "Thank you for your patience with me."

Cadash laughs. "You really do mellow out when you've been loved right," she says.

"I suppose I do," Cassandra agrees. 

"All it took was the end of the world and three bottles of brandy," Cadash says, and yawns.

"Perhaps next time, it won't." Cassandra brushes her lips across Cadash's face. 

"Now you're teasing me," Cadash says with mock reproach. She can hear Cassandra's heart beating. 

"I look forward to the chance," Cassandra says.

"You may change your mind by the morning," Cadash says, yawning again. It's been a long day, and a long night, and a lot of booze.

"I may," Cassandra says, "but I do not think I will." 

"I can't stay awake," Cadash mumbles. "Are you staying?"

"I am too weary to move," Cassandra says, pulling the coverlet over them. 

"That's the effect I have on people," Cadash says, and then she's asleep. She wakes up hours later, desperate to pee, and when she crawls back into the bed, Cassandra reaches out in her sleep and pulls Cadash against her. Cadash cups Cassandra's hand against her heart and nestles in. 

Cassandra's gone the next morning by the time Cadash wakes up, but she thinks she remembers a murmur and a kiss. She washes up and dresses in a leisurely sort of way, a little stiff from drinking and a little sore from fucking. Somehow she managed to stretch muscles that aren't often used. Her body responds with warm tingles when she thinks about the night before. She can only hope there are more like it. Clearly she could use the workout.

Cassandra's at the table buttering bread when Cadash comes in. Dorian's there too, with his head in his hands, and Varric is pouring tea into his cup. There's a full spread of meats and cheeses, and what looks like some kind of jam. It's a nice change from porridge made over the fire that the soldiers always manage to burn. 

"Good morning," Cassandra says, sitting dignified at the head of the table. Still a princess, despite it all, but Cadash, at the moment, can't imagine being frustrated with her. 

"Morning." Cadash takes the seat next to Cassandra and can't help grinning at her. Cassandra smiles back, the edges of her lips tucked in as if her joy is a secret. 

"You're far too cheery," Dorian groans. He squints up at Cadash from across the table. "Hang on. I know that smile."

"Yes," Cadash says. "It's mine. You've seen it before." She sits down and takes the teapot from Varric's unresisting fingers. "Haven't you managed to invent a hangover spell yet?"

"Neither a hangover spell nor an anti-hangover spell," Dorian says sourly. "Though if I manage the first, I'll try it out on you. You're still smiling."

"I don't have a hangover," Cadash says cheerfully. "It's a miracle. Andraste be praised."

"Blasphemer," Cassandra murmurs in a warm voice. 

"Clearly they took our advice," Varric says. He cuts a piece of cheese. "I mean, look at them. Those are morning-after faces if I ever saw them." 

Dorian studies Cadash and Cassandra. They both look back at him, Cadash still smiling, a challenge in Cassandra's eyes. "Andraste's tits," Dorian breathes, "you did take our advice."

"Congratulations," Varric says. "And also fuck you." He grins and winces. 

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," Cassandra says archly. "I barely remember last night." Her knee presses against Cadash's leg under the table.

"I, personally, drank a lot of water before bed and slept like a baby," Cadash says. 

"As did I," Cassandra says. "I assume." 

"Great," Varric says, "now you're going to be a whole different kind of pain in the ass, Seeker."

"She's a royal pain in the ass," Cadash reminds him, glancing fondly at Cassandra. At least that's nothing new. 

"I beg your pardon," Cassandra says, but she can't summon the usual level of outrage. 

"Definitely sleeping together," Dorian says. "And it was definitely good. Will wonders never cease?"

"I admit nothing," Cassandra says, but she can't contain the smile now. 

"Don't act surprised," Cadash says to Dorian. "I'm good at what I do and she's a quick study."

"Evidently," Dorian says. "The best to you both. Can we get through breakfast without too much beaming? Those bright shiny faces make my head hurt."

"I cannot guarantee that," Cassandra says. "Especially given the number of nights I've woken to the sound of vigorous love-making from your tent. Neither you nor Iron Bull has any discretion."

"Perfect," Varric says. "Wonderful. Can we fight a dragon after breakfast, please? I need to take this headache out on something big and nasty."

"We can do that," Cadash says, and Cassandra squeezes her hand under the table.


End file.
